


Synopsis: The Modern Prometheus

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Meta, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-31
Updated: 2003-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-18 07:13:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11869236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	Synopsis: The Modern Prometheus

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

The Modern Prometheus

**THE MODERN PROMETHEUS**

This episode has a historical basis, but history has been tweaked, 'Highlander style.' 

Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley wrote in her preface to 'Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus,' the following:   
'It is a subject also of additional interest to the author that this story was begun in the majestic region where the scene is principally laid, and in society which cannot cease to be regretted. I passed the summer of 1816 in the environs of Geneva. The season was cold and rainy, and in the evenings we crowded around a blazing wood fire, and occasionally amused ourselves with some German stories of ghosts, which happened to fall into our hands. These tales excited in us a playful desire of imitation. Two other friends (a tale from the pen of one of whom would be far more acceptable to the public than anything I can ever hope to produce) and myself agreed to write each a story founded on some supernatural occurrence.' 

According to Highlander, Byron's Quickening inspired her Frankenstein story. 

Prometheus, in mythology, gave fire to man and suffered terribly for his generosity. Shelley's Dr. Frankenstein wanted to give immortality to man by reanimating dead body parts-again through the fire of electricity. He too, suffered, as did the 'being' he created...dubbed, 'Frankenstein's monster.' 

Fire...electricity... lightning.... Quickenings...see a pattern? 

Old Doc Adams, A/K/A Methos, was part of the little group of dysfunctional geniuses that huddled together on that dark and stormy night. Also present were Mary Shelley, Percy Bysshe Shelley (coincidentally, he wrote a drama entitled, 'Prometheus Unbound'), Lord Byron and Claire Clairmont, Mary's stepsister. 

According to what I have read of George Gordon, Lord Byron, he is depicted perfectly and authentically in this episode right down to his deformed foot, (hence the cane). 

A quote from 'On Moore's Life of Lord Byron,' sums him up very well...   
'From the poetry of Lord Byron they drew a system of ethics compounded of misanthropy and voluptuousness, -a system in which the two great commandments were to hate your neighbor and to love your neighbor's wife.' 

What would a person of genius, forever lusting and unsatisfied, a demanding exhibitionist be in today's world? A rock superstar, of course! 

The music for this episode was provided by M.E.L.T., Marcus Testory's group (Caspian of Four Horsemen fame). My critique of it will be limited to 'different strokes for different folks.' 

_New Characters:_

**BYRON** \- Immortal, once a great poet (b.1788), and now a rock superstar, perpetually bored and hungering-disgusted with the emptiness of his life-seeking to destroy all talent because it reminds him of what he once was. He takes his first head in this episode-and apparently, all his good stuff was written before his Immortality. What happened to him almost happened to Claudia Jardine, the loss of genius paralleling the loss of mortality. 

**PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY** \- Mortal, contemporary and friend of 19th century Byron, great poet in his own right. 

**MARY SHELLEY** \- Percy's mistress/common law wife, haunted by memories of a daughter, Clara, who died young. 

**CLAIRE CLAIRMONT** \- Stepsister of Mary's, romantically involved with Byron (in real life they had a daughter). 

**HANS KERSHNER** \- A cuckolded (by Byron of course) husband, in the early 19th century-F. Braun McAsh, the swordmaster, plays him. 

**MIKE PALADINI** \- present day musical talent, awed and intimidated by Byron. 

**JERRY** \- promising composer who's convinced by Byron that he can fly. He cannot. 

We have a miniscule glimpse of Maurice, MacLeod's old barge-buddy. 

When Methos is with Byron, I refer to him as 'Doc,' as Byron does. 

* * *

Concert Hall   
Rock Concert featuring   
'Byron and the Undead' 

The audience cheers,   
As the rock superstar-   
Writhes to the rhythm-   
Of his pulsing guitar.   
They scream out his name,   
With frenzied emotion...   
'BY-RON!' they chant,   
With fervid devotion. 

Later, a fan-   
Jerry, by name-   
Accosts the 'Great One,'   
Like a moth nears a flame.   
'Did you get my tape?'   
He asks starry-eyed.   
'Sure, it was good,   
Let's go for a ride.' 

Jerry's astonished!   
Sure, he'll go along.   
Byron...his idol-   
Is praising _his_ song!   
What more can he ask?   
This will make his name.   
He's well on his way-   
To the Rock Hall of Fame! 

Deserted Warehouse 

Byron's persuaded-   
Jerry to climb-   
Up to the rafters-   
For a drunken good time.   
'C'mon,' Byron urges,   
'Spit out the fear!   
Taste of the glory,   
All the world sees you here!' 

When Jerry nearly falls,   
Byron shouts, 'Can you fly?'   
'What about my music?'   
Jerry still trusts this guy.   
'First we will jump,   
Then we'll lay tracks,'   
A mythical crowd-   
Resounds its climax. 

'JER-REE, JER-REE!'   
That thundering roar.   
'We're Batman and Robin-   
Like an eagle we'll soar!'   
He's befuddled by liquor,   
And Byron's bold dare,   
So both he and Byron-   
Take to the air... 

...and crash to the ground!   
Where both of them die.   
But Byron revives-   
Laughing, 'Nice try!'   
Poor Jerry's corpse-   
Now tragically flung,   
His lyrics and music-   
Forever unsung. 

Maurice's Night Club 

Maurice has booked-   
A brand new attraction-   
Mike, a new kid-   
With great guitar action,   
Mac, Joe and Methos-   
Are strongly approvin'   
'This kid is great!'   
The whole crowd is groovin.' 

Both Methos and Mac-   
Sense someone new.   
A pale-faced young man-   
Has come into view.   
Beams Methos, delighted,   
'Well, well...Look who's here!'   
'Bryon,' says Joe,   
With amazement, sincere. 

'LORD Byron?' asks Mac,   
This requires further study,   
Methos greets Byron-   
Like his long-lost buddy.   
'Hey Doc,' responds Byron   
To his old comrade,   
Then looks at Mike playing-   
'Hey, that kid's not bad.' 

'That's Mike, he's from London,'   
For Byron, fresh meat.   
The audience responds-   
When the set is complete-   
With hearty applause-   
Says Mike, 'What a rush!'   
Mac, Joe and Methos-   
With compliments, gush. 

But Mike Paladini-   
Sees only one man-   
'If you're who I think-   
I'm your number one fan.'   
While Byron charms Mike-   
Joe turns critically-   
To Methos, 'You knew Byron,   
And you never told _me?_ ' 

Flashback, Switzerland, 1816 

The wide road is lined-   
By trees, old and stately.   
The carriage proceeds-   
At a pace calm, sedately.   
As Doc Adams drives,   
He's politely aware-   
Of the smooching behind him-   
Of Byron and Claire. 

The horses clip forward,   
Now at a brisk canter,   
While Doc and his friends-   
Engage in crude banter.   
Byron is mocking-   
What Doc's work entails,   
'Up to his elbows-   
In maggoty entrails.' 

Doc retorts, 'Much of life-   
Can be learned from the dead.'   
Adds Byron, 'And some-   
From poets, I've read.'   
'When the Shelley's arrive,'   
Comments Doc, 'I'll find out.'   
Leers Byron, 'His wife-   
You'll seduce, without doubt.' 

Two passing ladies-   
(Realizing it's Byron-   
The poet, seducer-   
They've both had their eye on)-   
Beg for a poem,   
He obliges the pair-   
And along with the poem-   
Flings his scarf in the air. 

This token bestowed-   
With nonchalant flourish-   
For long days to come-   
Will their fantasies nourish.   
But for Byron and Doc-   
A new problem broaches,   
In the carriage that nears them-   
An Immie approaches! 

Doc pulls in the reins-   
Stopping the carriage.   
Says Byron, 'Hans Kershner-   
Defending his marriage,   
He thinks,' snickers Byron-   
As he lashes each horse,   
'That I slept with his wife,'   
'Did you?' 'Of course!' 

Now Byron is driving-   
With Kershner behind,   
Pursuing with only-   
One outcome in mind.   
He won't be cuckolded!   
He'll demand satisfaction!   
But, the others laugh loudly-   
At Kershner's reaction. 

'You scoundrel!' he calls,   
As his carriage moves faster,   
Led on by loud taunts,   
He approaches disaster.   
A rock in the road,   
His carriage wheel's busted!   
He's thrown to the ground,   
With dirt, he's encrusted. 

The exuberant group-   
At the villa's gates, thrilled   
Says Doc, 'You are mad!   
Did you want us all killed?'   
Pants Byron, 'To the contrary-   
Feel your heart racing,   
Now, more than ever-   
It's life you're embracing.' 

Lord Byron's Villa, That Evening 

Added into this mix-   
Come Mary and Percy,   
So, it's no surprise-   
Their diversions are verse-y,   
Byron reads aloud-   
As they lounge about,   
But he's boring himself,   
And his talent's burned out. 

Shelley presides-   
Over the flask.   
The laudanum's dispensed,   
One has but to ask.   
They recline listlessly,   
Occasionally pairing,   
For random lovemaking,   
It's all about sharing. 

But passion has fled,   
With boredom, they reek.   
Says Byron, 'Some new-   
Entertainment, we'll seek.   
New stories! Let's summon-   
The hordes of the night,   
To war for our souls,   
We'll give them a fight!' 

'Sounds thrilling,' says Claire   
'Sounds morbid,' adds Doc.   
Percy nods through the drugs,   
'Yes, our souls crave the shock.'   
Byron stands behind Mary,   
'Will you be the first?   
To amuse and to frighten,   
For death's tales, we thirst.' 

Mary fondles a skull,   
Such a sad specimen.   
'Yes, I have held death,   
Never want to again.'   
'But,' insists Byron,   
Was it not curative?   
In fear and in grief-   
Do we not truly live?' 

'I'm afraid I can't conjure-   
A tale of a specter,'   
'Dear lady,' says Byron-   
'Drink of the nectar.'   
'Drink it,' goads Percy,   
'The laudanum, drink.   
It will stimulate you,   
To creatively think.' 

But all that it does-   
Is bring her near death.   
She weaves, staggering,   
Gasping for breath.   
'Good doctor,' slurs Percy,   
Listlessly, to his friend,   
'Into your hands,   
Her spirit, I commend.' 

Adams picks her up,   
With infinite care.   
Percy sits drunkenly-   
Byron and Claire-   
Deadened by drugs,   
Resume their erotics,   
Not caring that Mary's-   
Near death from narcotics. 

In the four poster bed,   
Covered in white,   
Mary lies moaning,   
Trapped in her fright.   
In her nightmare,   
Dead Clara, can't speak,   
Her face, feather-covered,   
Her mouth is a beak. 

She screams, waking up   
Doc Adams sits near.   
'My baby came back,   
But nothing was clear.   
She looked like a bird,   
But the very worst fright,   
Was a monster, a beast,   
In the woods' misty light.' 

'Who is more unhappy?'   
Dulled by sedative,   
'Those who are dead...   
Or those who live?'   
Doc Adams is stroking-   
Mary's long hair,   
Trying to ease-   
Demonstrating his care. 

'Perhaps,' Doc suggests,   
'Death is not the end-   
In the long road of life,   
Perhaps it's a bend,   
If we believe that-   
We can live without fear.'   
'Bravo!' Doc's eclipsed-   
Now that Byron is here. 

But Doc is appalled-   
The patient in his trust-   
Has become to his friend-   
An object of lust!   
Byron fondles her thigh,   
Ascends toward her breast,   
Holds Doc's hand upon it,   
'Enough! Let her rest!' 

'Look at her, feel her...   
Why bother living-   
If we don't taste-   
All that life's giving.'   
Doc is aroused-   
By this tempting display-   
Yet, his decent side wins,   
Pulling Byron away. 

'How _dare_ you!' warns Byron   
'This is my house!   
I'll do as I choose!'   
He continues to grouse.   
As he pulls from his cane-   
A long, slender blade,   
Doc sighs, 'Let her be,   
In a tone, unafraid. 

'Poetry, not your head-   
Is what I want from you!'   
'Very well,' Byron nods,   
'That favor, I'll do.'   
Doc bows, then Lord Byron-   
Bows ever more gallant.   
Doc smiles, bowing lower-   
An homage to talent. 

Present Day, Outside Maurice's Club 

Joe Dawson's impressed.   
This kid is all right!   
Would he open for Joe-   
At his club the next night?   
With joy unrestrained,   
Well aware of the stakes,   
Mike agrees, 'Sure I'll do-   
Whatever it takes.' 

'You already did-   
What it takes,' smiles MacLeod   
Joe: 'Come in the morning....'   
Then a voice from the crowd-   
Interrupts them, it's Byron,   
'Mike! Want to jam?   
I only ask once!'   
Mike submits like a lamb. 

Joe cautions, 'Take it easy...'   
Mike's starting to speed up.   
His idol has called him.   
His emotions are keyed up.   
MacLeod's take on Byron?   
'Arrogant SOB!'   
Methos: 'He's a genius,   
A star, VIP,' 

'And he has connections,   
One phone call and-wow...   
Mike's future is made.'   
Joe: 'He's big time now.'   
Dawson's resentful,   
But, Mac is concerned,   
If you're too close to fire,   
You're sure to be burned. 

Deserted Warehouse 

Byron likes taking-   
His new conquests here-   
To intimidate them,   
Make them know fear.   
Mike almost falls-   
Like Jerry once did-   
But Byron has further-   
Plans for this kid. 

Byron's Suite 

Mike plays while his idol-   
Has sex on the bed.   
A drunken girl dances,   
With all restraints shed.   
Full of liquor and sex   
They cheer with loud laughter,   
But Byron's applause-   
Is all Mike is after. 

'Mike! You're the Man!   
Tomorrow night be-   
At the studio, and you-   
Will lay tracks with me.   
Meet a few people...'   
Mike's dream has come true,   
'You know it, man...   
I'll be there for you.' 

Then Byron offers-   
To Mike, a 'nightcap,'   
Some coke or smack?   
The bait for the trap.   
When Mike takes a pass,   
Byron turns cool.   
'Tomorrow is out,'   
Mike feels like a fool. 

Byron's double entendre,   
'Don't know what you're missing,'   
Mike feels his career,   
Goodbye, he'll be kissing,   
This high price for fame-   
Is what he must pay,   
The girls beg enticingly,   
'Stay Mike, and play.' 

Joe's Club, Next Day 

Rehearsal has started.   
Mike scrambles in late.   
He's on overdrive,   
'Sorry you had to wait,'   
Joe is impatient.   
'Tune it up, let's get going,'   
But when Mike starts playing,   
No fire is showing. 

Duncan is wincing.   
Joe suggests, 'Get some rest,'   
'Tough night?' asks MacLeod,   
Mike: 'It was the best!   
I was flying!' he brags.   
Mac observes carefully,   
'Looks like you still are,   
Seems so to me.' 

Joe asks, 'Did Byron-   
Help you to fly?'   
Mike gets defensive,   
His only reply-   
'This is Byron you're trashing,   
You should be glad,   
Not bitching and saying-   
Everything's bad.' 

'I'm out of here!'   
And away goes the kid.   
Sighs Joe; 'I screwed up,'   
Mac: 'Somebody did...   
I'm going to see Byron.'   
Says Methos, 'Why not-   
Me too. Joe...you worried?'   
'Kid's in a tough spot.' 

Methos, the sage-   
Has wisdom to give.   
'To create great music-   
First you must live.'   
Joe declares, 'Hallelujah!'   
Methos: 'Sometimes the man's   
Not as strong as the music,'   
It makes its own plans. 

Byron's Suite 

Byron snapping his fingers,   
In a manner despotic.   
Berating his aide,   
Like a whining neurotic.   
'Almonds, not cashews,   
Fed to me by tall beauties,   
Go and procure them,   
Those are your duties!' 

Seeing Doc, Byron smiles,   
Old buddies, they are.   
'Yes, it is good,   
Being a star,'   
Mac gets to the point,   
'I hear you had quite-   
An interesting session-   
With Mike late last night.' 

'Yeah,' admits Byron,   
'He's got a good shot.'   
He offers them dope-   
But they'd rather not.   
He snorts it alone.   
'Life's all about it,   
I don't know how you-   
Guys live without it.' 

'Just fine, so did Mike,'   
Says Mac, 'till last night.'   
Byron is savoring-   
His hit, with delight.   
'Doc, what's the secret?   
What do you do-   
When the dreary years stretch-   
Endlessly behind you?' 

'Cold, dark and empty-   
The centuries roll by...   
What do you do-   
To make the time fly?   
Immortality becomes-   
An infinite bore,   
And your mirror reflects-   
All you hate and abhor?' 

Flashback, Switzerland, 1816   
Lord Byron's Villa   
Main Hallway 

Mary stands timid,   
Afraid to go in,   
'Masterful ghost stories,   
I can't begin-   
To hope my poor words-   
Can compete with theirs.'   
Murmurs Doc, 'Tell your dreams,   
And your worst nightmares.' 

They enter the room,   
Where her husband's lips-   
Lick wine from Claire's foot-   
As it flows down and drips.   
'Ah,' chuckles Byron,   
Percy paused in his drink,   
'The doctor's in love-   
With Mary, I think,' 

Percy takes Mary-   
With surprising strength-   
Into his arms-   
Then lowers her full length-   
Onto the cushions-   
For his lips re-employment.   
Both Mary and Claire-   
Give him equal enjoyment. 

A Buzz, very close,   
The duty is Byron's-   
To see whom is lurking-   
In the environs.   
Doc goes along-   
At the doorway is standing-   
Hans Kershner, the cuckold,   
Satisfaction, demanding. 

Kershner slaps Byron,   
Then pulls out his sword.   
Byron is new-   
But he's already bored.   
Doc enjoins him, 'Give way,   
You're not ready yet,'   
But Byron is pleased,   
Some diversion, he'll get. 

Outside the Villa 

The night sky's portentous.   
A great storm is brewing.   
Lightning bolts flash.   
Peals of thunder ensuing.   
Doc Adams is screaming,   
Voice shrill as a siren,   
'Would you be the one-   
To murder Lord Byron?' 

Smug Byron announces-   
'He'll be my first conquest.'   
Then, 'Try me boy,'   
Kershner growls for the contest,   
Byron thrusts with his blade,   
And blocks with his cane.   
His bad foot appears-   
Not to suffer the strain. 

Their swords clang and crash,   
In the ominous night.   
Mary Shelley comes out-   
To witness the sight.   
As she watches in horror,   
Kershner runs Byron through,   
Then pulls Byron's cane,   
The wrong thing to do. 

Byron jerks out the sword-   
Held concealed in the cane.   
Uses it to stab Kershner,   
Who's helpless with pain.   
As Kershner's beheaded,   
Mary stands in shocked silence.   
Doc must pull her back-   
From the Quickening's violence. 

Mary watches the lightning,   
Seeming to animate-   
Byron's dead body,   
Limbs twitch and gyrate.   
His body's suspended-   
By a strange force horrific.   
Inscribed in her mind,   
Like a stone hieroglyphic. 

The gates to the villa-   
Swing open, then close.   
The explosions and salvos-   
Are immense, grandiose,   
But what she'll recall,   
In the heat of this strife-   
Is that lightning struck Byron-   
And gave him... new life. 

As the Quickening wanes-   
Mary's brain is aswarm.   
Doc explains it as being-   
'A trick of the storm.'   
'I am not a fool.   
I saw Byron die-   
Then live again-   
I need to learn why.' 

'My daughter, Clara-   
In her grave, is now dust.   
How can _he_ live?   
Explain! You...I trust.'   
Doc tells her that Byron-   
Is Immortal, can't die.   
'How do you know this?'   
'Because....so am I.' 

'Please,' Doc beseeches,   
'Tell no one. We must-   
Live our lives secretly,'   
(His turn to trust),   
She: 'Or you'll be hunted-   
From near and from far.'   
'For the perversion-   
Of nature we are.' 

She remembers her dream-   
Of a monster, tormented,   
Chased by a crowd...   
Hated, resented,   
A creature resurrected-   
By lightning, infernal-   
To a life, ever lonely,   
Empty, eternal. 

When Byron revives-   
Toward his villa, he limps.   
'That was a fine show-   
You were privileged to glimpse,   
Come, tell more stories,'   
He's still somewhat woozy,   
'Mary, do you have one?'   
She does. It's a doozy! 

'It will be about-   
Immortality's state,   
Its anguish and pain-   
Abnormality's fate...   
'Frankenstein, the Modern-   
Prometheus,' it's called,   
A man born of fire,'   
Byron, Doc are enthralled. 

Byron's Suite, Present Day 

Now Byron re-reads-   
Mary Shelley's creation.   
On his wall hangs a picture-   
A representation-   
From the nightmare she had-   
That face lets him know-   
How he'd look to the world-   
If his true face would show. 

'We Immortals belong-   
To a loathsome fraternity.   
Like Frankenstein's monster-   
Doomed for eternity.'   
To Methos and Mac-   
He says drugs are giving-   
'At least the illusion,   
That we are still living.' 

Mac says, 'If you think-   
That's what life's about...   
You are already dead!   
Now you hear me out.   
This is no illusion,   
With imagined overtone,   
This is real. It's a warning,   
Leave Mike alone!' 

Outside 

Methos, up to now-   
Has subdued his distress.   
Now Mac's telling him-   
'Your friend's a mess,'   
'He's a genius.' 'He's pathetic!'   
'He's empty inside-   
Always lusting for more,   
Always unsatisfied.' 

Mac knows what it's like-   
To feel empty, cut loose,   
But he can't condone Byron.   
'It's no excuse.'   
Methos gives examples,   
'Van Gogh and Mozart...   
They were messed up-   
Because of their art.' 

'Yeah, Da Vinci and Bach,   
Didn't carry that curse,   
Normal guys, but great artists,'   
'Byron's written great verse...   
His loss would entail-   
A huge sacrifice,   
So much, he has given...'   
Mac: 'But at what price?' 

Night on a Rooftop 

Byron has summoned-   
The lightning upon him!   
A display just for Mike,   
(He can easily con him)   
Not knowing he's Immortal,   
Mike stares up in awe.   
Byron clings to the lightning rod,   
Howls his throat raw. 

He challenges the heavens,   
Around him, bolts flash,   
While down below-   
Mike feels his world crash.   
'I didn't tell them-   
To come,' Mike's insisting,   
Jeers Byron, 'Those guys-   
Are barely existing.' 

'Inside, they're dead,   
Small men with small dreams,   
Mike, you should grab life-   
Squeeze it 'til it screams...   
But Daddy won't let you,   
Go home, kid...Get wise!'   
Mike goes, leaving Byron-   
To shriek at the skies. 

Outside Joe's Club 

Mike accosts Mac and Joe,   
Just as they're going.   
'Hey, thanks for nothing...   
My big chance you're blowing.   
My life is _my_ business,   
Stay the hell out!   
Playing in little clubs-   
Isn't what I'm about!' 

Mac grabs him, 'You think-   
Byron cares what you do?   
Whether you live or die?   
Gives a damn about you?'   
Joe tries to placate-   
And defuse the fuss,   
'Hey, Mike...are you still-   
Gonna open for us?' 

But Mike blows him off,   
Byron's his 'shot,'   
His chance at the Big Time,   
These guys don't know squat.   
Byron will help him,   
Get him the breaks.   
He'll be a big star,   
Whatever it takes. 

Byron's Suite 

Mike's idol's caught up-   
In a drug induced rage,   
Trashing his room,   
Ripping each page-   
Old poetry perhaps?   
In a tantrum, he's lost.   
Snorting his powder,   
Fueling his holocaust. 

He stops to greet Mike-   
In a petulant way.   
'Did Mummy agree-   
You could come out and play?'   
'I don't need permission!'   
'Great, let's celebrate!'   
He gives Mike a needle,   
'Don't make me wait.' 

Joe's Club, Later 

Mike never showed,   
'Mac, it doesn't look good,   
Who'd choose my life?'   
Mac answers, 'You would.'   
Joe insists, 'It's my fault,'   
Mac: 'Don't take the blame,'   
  
Says Dawson; 'You would,'   
An intuitive claim. 

Byron's Suite 

What Mac now discovers-   
Rips him to his core.   
Mike has OD'd,   
Stone-dead on the floor!   
'Damn him!' swears Duncan,   
Then a bottle he throws-   
At that freak in the picture-   
Like blood, the wine flows. 

Concert Hall   
Backstage 

Doc catches Byron-   
Before his big show.   
'As a friend, I must warn you-   
It's best you should go-   
On tour-far away,   
MacLeod's coming here.'   
'And let my fans down?'   
Outside, hear them cheer. 

'There was a time,'   
Doc makes him recall,   
'You reached for the heavens,   
You dreamed for us all,'   
'Heaven,' scoffs Byron-   
'Is just an illusion.   
I've no hope or dreams,   
Poetry's all delusion.' 

'Hunger and failure,   
Is what I possess,   
You know what I am?'   
Doc replies sadly, 'Yes.'   
'You know who you are...?   
One who sits, merely sees...   
While I'm way up there-   
On the flying trapeze.' 

Byron: 'Who has more fun?'   
'But who will endure?'   
'Who cares?' rebuffs Byron,   
'I do,' Doc feels sure.   
'On your tombstone,' says Byron-   
What words should survive,   
'He lived'... or instead-   
'He was alive?' 

'I don't want a tombstone,   
Not either kind.   
Doc sees he cannot-   
Impact Byron's mind,   
The music starts up,   
'They're playing my song.'   
Doc wonders whose funeral-   
He'll attend before long. 

As he exits the room-   
Methos heaves a great sigh,   
There is MacLeod-   
With blood in his eye,   
Methos knows about Mike-   
'But he wasn't coerced.'   
'That's crap! Byron caused it!'   
Is Duncan's outburst. 

'Mike wasn't Immortal,   
He couldn't survive-   
Copying Byron's excesses-   
Always in overdrive,   
The kid idolized him.   
Now he is dead!'   
Methos fears that MacLeod-   
Wants Byron's head. 

'Think!' implores Methos-   
'Of the poetry he's made,   
Of the music, unwritten-   
Still to be played....   
Would you kill all that?'   
Mac says, 'What of Mike?   
Consider what his-   
Music would have been like' 

Later 

The concert now over,   
Mac waits patiently.   
Byron confronts him,   
'See? They love me!'   
'Tell me,' says Mac,   
Disgust in his eyes,   
'Is there anything more-   
Than yourself, you despise?' 

'BY-RON!' chants the crowd,   
They're screaming for more-   
But tonight Byron won't-   
Perform an encore.   
His last performance-   
Is not for the crowd,   
It's private, between-   
Him and MacLeod. 

A side room's the scene-   
Of their battle's inception,   
Mac's mindful of-   
Byron's use of deception.   
Mac grabs the 'sword' cane,   
Makes Byron lose it.   
'Makes us even,' Mac says,   
Now Byron can't use it. 

But Byron ejects-   
From his sleeve a small gun,   
Shoots Mac in the ankle,   
Not to be outdone,   
' _Now,_ we are even!'   
Mac's still energetic-   
Though limping with pain,   
While his foe turns poetic. 

Old verses pour out-   
From an epic he wrote,   
Upstairs the crowd chants,   
Mac supplies the last quote-   
Then whirling his body,   
With strength and rage wed,   
His blade slashes down-   
Severing Byron's head. 

The Highlander's lifted-   
By a delicate mist,   
Then by sizzling lightning-   
He's violently kissed.   
He's pummeled and wracked-   
By explosions, hot flaring   
And pounded by music-   
Savage and blaring. 

As Lord Byron's essence-   
Flows into his being,   
All scenes from the life-   
Of the poet, Mac's seeing.   
The genius, the passion,   
Adventures erotic,   
The despair and the rage-   
Of the insatiate psychotic. 

Joe's Club, Later 

When Duncan walks in-   
There's an aura of grief.   
Methos and Joe,   
Resignation, relief.   
Mac fills a glass,   
Then sits wearily.   
Methos is pensive,   
Then speaks drearily. 

The genius he knew-   
Wrote verses of magic.   
The life of the man-   
Became something tragic.   
MacLeod takes a drink,   
'We know how those end,'   
He grieves for the loss,   
Along with his friend. 

Byron's voice reads-   
His own words, reflecting,   
As Mac, Joe and Methos-   
Now sit unsuspecting,   
Soon, very soon-   
They will bitterly weep-   
When from tragedy's cup-   
They drink long and deep. 

'My task is done-my song has ceased-my theme   
Has died to an echo; it is fit   
The spell should break of this protracted dream.   
The torch shall be extinguished which hath lit   
My midnight lamp-and what is writ, is writ, -   
Would it were worthier! But I am not now   
That which I have been-and my visions flit   
Less palpably before me-and the glow   
Which in my Spirit dwelt is fluttering, faint, and low.' 

             George Gordon, Lord Byron   
            'Childe Harolde's Pilgrimage,' Canto IV, stanza 185 

The lyrics to the music played during the Quickening are as follows: 

                Mighty mother stay with me   
                lay your arms like wings around me   
                cover me with love   
                give me the strength   
                on my way to go   
                in your name 

                to your glory I pray   
                cause love conquers all 

                You're the one that was   
                You're the one that is   
                You're the one that always   
                will be 

                No one mortal is able   
                to lift your veil 

                I can see your light in the distance   
                I can see you shine in the distance   
                Isis, mighty mother   
                I can feel your presence   
                I know you're with me 

                Dead but undead I'll be   
                Osiris is my name   
                and our love   
                and our love   
                conquers all 

                      Marcus Testory   
                      Nov.93-Nov.95 

Peace, Emit   
© 2002 

**_Under the Kilt_ from Highlander: The Official Site: **

David Abramowitz, Creative Consultant   
'I loved this episode because I thought it was so gothic and so beautiful.' 

**Don Paonessa, Creative Consultant, Post Production**   
'There was a lot of work done in this, specifically dealing with the drug-induced stuff. We played around with the flashes of evil, the Frankenstein thing. With the Quickening, we did the whole business of him levitating. This was all stuff that we discussed with Adrian, since he was directing, so it was all planned out and he got the shots. It was a good show.' 

**Ken Gord, Producer**   
'Another Adrian show, another huge, huge nightmare show and I think he did a fantastic job. This show almost cost me my marriage. This was being prepped before Christmas and we were going to shoot it as soon as we got back after New Year's. And I came back to Vancouver, which is no small flight, and Adrian decided to stay in Paris. David promised us a tiny little show that we could prep really easily so that we could just come back and do it. And it had carriage chases, huge stunts, three sword fights, a big cast, an entire period piece, probably one of the toughest shows ever to be prepped. What's the line about not believing the producers? So I got a call two days after I was back on my ten-day hiatus and I had to fly back to France. My wife still talks about it. Of course, when I got back, things were really in pretty good shape. They just wanted to have Dad around to make sure they colored within the lines. Adrian did an amazing job on this huge show. And Jonathan Firth was great as Byron.' 

~ Archangel   
  
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End file.
